


and like us, deeply risked it all

by thraume (ethia)



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: 2nd person POV, AU, Backstory, F/M, Freeform, Mirrorverse, a history of Gabriel Lorca, band of survivors, love in times of despair, the Terran Empire reloaded, the desperate few, war is a thief, we make our own happy endings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 16:56:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13058229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ethia/pseuds/thraume
Summary: Isn't a thing a captain wouldn't do for his family.A bleak look at the mirrorverse, where the only evil is war.





	and like us, deeply risked it all

**Author's Note:**

> A series of glimpses at the life of Gabriel Lorca, as seen through the mirror.
> 
>  **Title:** Songs: Ohia, _Lightning Risked It All_

_You can't go home again, Gabriel._

Father looks so still and white, laid out on his bed like he's asleep, but you know that he's not.

He's far away, cold to your touch, his face not quite right, empty somehow without the warmth of his smile, the clear blue of his eyes.

Frail and small without the stark black of his uniform to make him look as tall and strong as you remember him to be.

He's gone for good, not ever to return, waiting for his ashes to be swept up by the wind, become a part of the high keening sound that's always there, no matter the planet, no matter the size and shape of the housing that keeps you warm and safe at night.

No more bedtime stories to hush you to sleep, no more grasping for the sky on the rise of his shoulders.

No more _be brave, my love, and do me proud_ before he leaves to search the skies for a new place to live.

Mother bends low to kiss your brow, the tug of her fingers on the front of your coat a halting to and fro, trembling, uncertain. Like she means to hold on, but knows that she can't.

When you twist in her arms to look up at her face you see that she's crying, and the wet shining run of her unheeded tears scares you more than the strangeness of her calmly spoken words.

_What's lost stays lost. Just you always remember this._

You can't fall asleep that night, upright in your bed, the thin blanket drawn tightly about the clench of your shoulders, and Father's voice calling in the wail of the wind.

_Be brave, my love, and do me proud._

//

You've lost count of the funerals, but this one stands out, an ache so acute you have to ball your fists about it to keep from shouting out loud.

They let you scatter your mother's ashes, but it takes the press of Emily's hand on your shoulder to release her to the winds, become a part of this world you've only known for a week, as dead and barren as the one where they made you leave your father behind.

So many of you, no more than dust settling on places you don't even know what to call in your mind.

Victims, all of them, to famine, disease, the throes of war.

“I'm sorry,” Emily says, and you're old enough now to understand how young she still is.

How each and every death is a weight that piles and piles on top of another on the deceptive frailness of her shoulders.

Emily Burnham, empress; an empire of a scant four thousand souls. The dregs of humanity. Those who survive, one day at a time. A scatter of life along a string of barely inhabitable worlds.

You knew her picture, of course, long before you had reason to meet her; that serious dark face, steeled with resolve. Born to lead, her own mother's ashes gone when she was but a few years older than you are now.

She looks cold where she stands by your side on the deeply frozen grounds, the tails of her battered black coat being whipped about by gust after gust of the harsh winter chill.

But her hand is warm on your wind-numb skin, her eyes kind as she urges you to be on your way with her.

“Your home is with us now, little brother. Don't you worry. We'll look out for you.”

You're grateful for her words, even though you know that she's wrong.

Because now you understand.

With Mother also gone, you can't have a home anymore.

Just a place to be. With strangers around you.

//

“I'll make it to major within my first year,” Gideon says, wide awake in the bunk next to yours. “Become a general as fast as I can. Show those Klingon bastards what I'm made of.”

What he's made of is mostly stupid, but you keep your mouth shut in the dark. You've become fast friends, even though Gideon seems unimpressed by history's lesson alive all around you. Loyal to a fault, eager to make a contribution, and someone you'd entrust your life to without a second thought.

One day soon you will.

But he's blind to the past, all the mistakes compounded by generation upon generation of war-hungry zealots. General, major, empress. Anachronisms, all of them. Relics of days long gone by, titles kept by necessity alone. Empty names to distinguish the most accomplished pilots among your numbers.

The old ways left behind for good, and rightly so.

The only war you're still fighting the one for survival.

“What about you, Gabriel?”

“Me?” You've given it so much thought since the day you moved in with your peers, your brothers and sisters, orphans like you, that the idea has become as certain as breathing to you. “I'm going to find us a place to stay.”

Not home, not quite.

But maybe close enough.

//

The very first thing you notice about her is the apple in her hand, bright red and shining, the perfect roundness of it in the curl of her fingers. A pilot's perk, a dot of color against the washed out black of her handed-down uniform.

In the service already, with a face so very young, its quiet glowing beauty unperturbed by the constant pressure of holding things together for all of you. Even the smallest mistake a potential for death and devastation.

She can't be much older than you. Nineteen, maybe twenty to your almost eighteen.

There's no reason for her to notice you as she peels away from her squadron, the fall of her long brown hair unruly in the stir of the turbulent breeze.

But once she's caught sight of you, the gangly frame you've almost grown into, she heads straight for you, away from the transport, away from the half dozen souls just arrived from the last of your colonies to oversee your safe passage to another new planet. Singles you out among the youths who have gathered to gawk at the troops. Eager to join, too young yet to be allowed to ensure everyone's safety. Dreamers, the lot of you. Recruits in the making.

“You're Lorca,” she says as she stops right there in front of you, her mouth curved slightly with the beginnings of a smile. As tall as you, and up this close there's so much softness about her, a depth of it in the calm of her eyes, and why that should make your heart trip in your chest, you really can't say. “Emily told me about you. I'm Cornwell. Our fathers used to fly together. Come seek me out when they think they're done with your training. I'll put a few tricks up your sleeves.”

More softness where her fingers brush yours as she presses her apple into your hand, and she doesn't pull back, her skin warming yours, and still that smile, and still your heart is stumbling about, upset and shaken out of its pace.

“I will,” you say in a breathless rush, glad of her nod, the run of her thumb along the heat of your wrist before she withdraws, the lean lines of her back and shoulders straight with the certainty of purpose as she walks back to her unit.

The apple is sweet and lasting in your mouth, and so in your mind is the memory that goes with it.

//

The shooting range is deserted at noon, not a soul in sight to disturb your lesson. A few minutes to yourselves until lunchtime is over.

Sallow light filters down from under a cloud-heavy sky, a fine dusting of red sand adrift on the ground.

Katrina is busy correcting your stance, a few quick touches of her hand to your hip, the bend of your shoulder all it takes to steady your sight and improve your aim.

Loose rubble drifts from the edge of the half-collapsed roof that's lending you shelter, its shift announced by a small rustle of sound. Chunks of concrete come crashing down in its wake, and you pull your partner out of harm's way, a drill so familiar by now that it doesn't take a conscious thought.

Having each other's back always.

“Watch out, Kat.” You're breathless with the proximity of her, the rush of excitement. The warmth of her hand over the pitiful rush and tumble of your heart. Surely she must feel its stutter, and guess what it means.

She's alert in your arms, incredibly close, each muscle alive with a rush of tension. But then she relaxes, a calm on her face, a shift about her mouth, gentle and soft, that keeps you from dropping your arms right away. The heat of her body like a flush on your skin.

“No one's called me that in a long time. Not since my sister died.”

The soft lilt of sadness in her voice almost makes you pull her in, but you know that you can't, because if you have her any closer now you will seek the kiss you've been craving for so long, with never so much as a minute alone in her presence. A constant spill of people about you, quarters overflowing with civilians and pilots alike. Today marking the first exception, and even now the threat of disturbance is already hanging thickly above you.

“Sorry. I didn't mean--”

It's such a bad idea, to have your face be so close to hers, poised to move in, give in to that pull of want that makes you run your fingers lightly over the back of her arms, the one show of tenderness you feel safe to allow yourself.

“It's okay. I like you to.”

The slow brush of her cheek against yours feels like a promise before she steps away, the footfalls of your comrades returning from lunch getting louder in the distance.

To be alone with her just once.

You're all family now, all of the time, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

But being with Katrina feels like coming home.

//

Maintenance of your derelict ships is a tedious job, one that is shared among all of the pilots with quiet determination. Not one among you who doesn't know the ins and outs of their shuttle's engine, all the small ways of coaxing the stuttering drive back into service.

The hangar is crowded today, with another move announced for the end of the week. Another trip, another world. Another slice of life stowed safely away from the Klingons' watchful eyes.

You've been working for the better part of the day, a hard pull of tension painful in your shoulders.

Katrina joins you in your secluded corner, makes you sit down and share the food she brought. Runs her hands over the tightness in your muscles, eases the strain, mindful of the shift in your breathing, the way you start to push into her touch.

She glances about, careful of the prying eyes around you, the bustle of the other pilots busy at work all over the place.

But they're all gone, safely out of sight, and you know why, you know what it means, even before Kat leans close, the heat of her mouth chaste where it falls lightly on your cheek.

“Taking a break,” she breathes, the shape of her smile hot and sweet on your skin, “Just for a few moments.”

You make yourself kiss her softly at first, a mere tease of skin on skin, the very first graze of your lips over hers. Then she crushes herself to you, so little time after such a long wait, and her mouth is hard on yours, her body soft where it's pressing against you, and it's too much, too little, and you can't stop kissing her, can't stop yourself from drinking in the little sounds she makes each time you lave at her lips with the tip of your tongue.

But you have to let her go, slip your fingers from where they rest on the back of her neck, one last regretful slide over the curve of her cheek. All chaste again.

When the harsh race of your heart is anything but.

Not knowing when you'll be able to steal another brief moment just for yourselves.

If at all.

//

Scouting is always a calculated risk.

Small groups of pilots to vet out the premises. Three pairs of two, to find a new world to harbor you for no more than a few months, half a year on the outside. Scan for resources, and bring back what you can.

There has been no sign of Klingon patrols before you decided to land. They descended shortly after you, with barely enough time for the six of you to slip through a small crack in a wall and sneak down into the ruins of a deeply buried bunker, your ships hidden in the fall of dusk, nondescript shapes in a landscape marred by war.

The Klingons seem determined to be thorough, the place crawling with a whole battalion of them. Orders barked, the stomp of their boots, sounds echoing every which way, muffled to an indistinguishable mash of noise by the thick walls of your shelter.

It's not the first time you're stuck like this.

It could always be the last.

You settle in for the duration, slide down to sit on the sprawl of your cloak, your back to the wall of the tiny chamber off the main room that serves the other pilots as their hideout. In the thickening dark, you can no longer see them, can only know of their presence by the scuff of a boot, the quickly stifled sound of a cough.

You've always found it easier to endure the wait alone.

Through the narrow doorway, a slim silhouette moves toward you, dark gray against black, and then Kat squats down in front of you, strokes her fingers over the back of your neck, coaxing and sure, to make you bend right into her.

The only company you ever cared to seek.

“We're not gonna die tonight, but,” she says, so close that you can feel her lips moving over the shell of your ear, a warm tickle of sound, “No regrets.”

None at all, not between her and you, and you pull her down quickly to straddle your thighs even as her mouth finds yours in the dark, her lips a tight fit over the restless shift of yours, sealing in your grunts, her sighs, the heated rush of your mingled breaths.

It's not what you wanted, what you dreamed of when you thought of finally being with her; pressed snugly together under the spread of her cloak, not a sound escaping from either of you, your bodies moving in urgent cadence, rise and push and slide and fall, quiet, quiet in the blind hush of the dark.

The fuse of her mouth, her heat all around you, the rhythmic rub of her fingers under the collar of your jacket not nearly enough of her naked skin on yours, and you clutch at her, pull her painfully close, desperate to have her near, feel her touch all over you.

Cup her face in the sweaty slide of your palms as you feel her come apart over you, her mouth going slack under the hardness of yours, and you rush and buck into the sated weight of her body in your arms, your groan of completion swallowed safely in the sweetness of her kiss.

She settles herself in the circle of your arms, the sleepy trail of her mouth on the side of your neck a tender kiss with every in and out of your breath.

“I want to do so much better by you,” you whisper over the glow of her skin, nuzzling at that spot right next to her ear that makes her shiver under the slide of your lips. You bury your face in the silky tresses of her hair, breathe her in, fill yourself to the brim with that sweet, warm scent of her.

“And so you will,” she murmurs back, and you capture her hand where it rests on your chest to press a kiss to the warmth of her wrist, paint a smile on the delicate arch of her palm.

You won't let her slip away again.

//

“How long?” You ask, and Katrina smiles, the slow one that makes you want to push close, suckle small kisses along the line of her jaw until she gasps and moans and whimpers for you.

“All night,” she says, and you do move in, press her right up against the door of the small hut she begged off her friends as a favor for tonight. A space for your own, for hours on end, a privilege strictly reserved for wedded couples alone.

No exceptions at all. Unless, of course, Katrina Cornwell has set her mind on bending the rules.

“We owe them,” you say, breathless with the wild run of your thoughts, the undulant sway of Kat's hips under the steady roam of your hands.

“Right now I think that you owe me.”

It's the throaty hum of her voice that makes you grunt, the sultry curve of her lips that has you drive your hips into her hers, a languid burn of need dragged out for as long as you can stand it. You steady yourself with one hand against the wall, panting into the drawl of her kiss, moaning under the swipe of her tongue over the swell of your lips.

“Then let me make it up to you, Kat.”

All night, and you make full use of your time, strip her out of her uniform so painfully slow that she's writhing under the tips of your fingers, the trail of your mouth over the glorious sprawl of her naked skin, the delicate trembling softness of it.

You study her with your hands and your lips, each curve, each bend, each taste and each sound, the way she arches and bucks and clings under the diligent curl of your tongue, the wet heat of your mouth.

You make her come twice before you finally allow her to undress you in return, let her peel off your clothes, swift and efficient in your shared desire to finally get as close you can.

The feel of her spread out under you is almost too much, too good for you to hold yourself still, and it doesn't take the weight of her hand on the small of your back to rock yourself against the heat of her core. But you wait for her to pull you in, that one slow slide of her fingers over you almost enough to push you right over.

“Stay with me, Gabriel,” she says, and you look right back at her, sink into the depth and the calm of her gaze as you push into the deliciously welcoming stretch of her, that pulsing heat around you almost as good as the tender swipe of her fingers over your mouth.

All night, and you rock yourself slowly, steady and deep, succumb to the lazy swirl of her tongue over yours.

She grows restless soon, her pleasure rising, and there isn't a thing you can do to hold either of you back, and so you don't, let yourself get swept up by your need instead, an echo of want and desire ringing between you, a force that lifts you high and higher, up, up, until you break apart in a frenzied rush of tension that leaves you sated so deeply you can't imagine ever moving away from her again.

You don't; you just nestle her against your side, and after a while of not quite dozing in her arms you let her push you to your back so that she may begin her own exploration of you.

You must still owe her, then.

“What's with the saucy grin?” She asks, and you peck her on the mouth, then pull her in for a more serious kiss, stilling her hands on your stomach with one of your own before you're too aroused to speak your mind. Tell her what's been moving you ever since that night in the bunker.

You slide your palm gently along her cheek, trail your thumb across the corner of her mouth, and still it doesn't seem enough to satisfy the well of tenderness you feel at the sight of her slightly mussed hair, the glow of her skin, the loveliness of her smile for you.

“We could get a place of our own,” you say, very softly, because it's really a question you're asking.

“Not if we're not--” She blinks at you, but her smile doesn't waver, only widens with the rush of her comprehension. “Oh. Really?”

“I'm yours, anyway. Might as well make it official. If you want to.”

“You know that I do. Don't you, Gabriel?”

You do, have known it since that very first kiss, and you seal it with another, and don't let her go again for the rest of the night.

//

There's rings, of course. Emily's blessing. Even a bit of serious moonshine, courtesy of your small band of friends.

The world you're on is warm and lush with an abundance of green, trees that stretch so tall and high they seem to scrape at the sky and its scatter of stars.

A beauty that will keep long after you've packed up your tents and moved on.

You've never wanted to stay so much, all risks be damned.

“Seems silly somehow, when most of the time, we won't even wear them.”

Katrina slips off her own ring first, then relieves you of yours. Puts them on a chain, to keep them safe, a possession for you to return to from each of your flights.

Pilot's superstition.

There's another tradition you've decided to follow, and it's Kat who gets to do the honors, two tiny cuts with a steady hand, a wound so minor it will heal without any extra attention.

A small scar where your ring would sit. The toppled half circle of her C rising over the prone line of your L.

One for each of you.

“Sunrise,” she says. “A new dawn.”

For her and you.

For all of you.

//

A moment of inattention and you pay with a stab right next to your spine, a wound that will scar and forever remind you that, with a partner this fresh, you will have to look out much better for yourself.

And him as well.

Katrina doesn't admonish you; she just raises a brow, then stitches you up, and makes you recount the details of your mission. The intricacies of your failure.

You sit with your hand resting on the swell of her belly, the perfect soft roundness of it under the wide spread of your fingers. Just two months left, and you've seen so little of each other, but tonight you will keep her close in your arms, enjoy the luxurious softness of her body pressed tightly to yours, the sprawl of your fingers tender over the stretch of her stomach.

You miss her, each day as you fly, and scout, and scavenge. Miss her skill, her laugh, her expertise, the certain safety of her watching your back.

But Kat can do so much good on the ground with her medical skills, and you sleep better knowing that for once, she's even safer without you than she would be by your side.

//

Your dark hair, a downy shock of curls on his tiny head.

Katrina's eyes, slim and angry in his scrunched up face as he screams with hunger.

Blue now, but green and kind like hers once he's grown a little older.

Ellis.

He's a bad idea, a terrible risk.

He's a miracle.

You hold him close, safe in your arms, the curl of his little fist strong and sure around your finger.

Katrina smiles as you place him back in her embrace, her eyes, her mouth, her strength and spirit all mirrored in your son.

Ellis.

Your future, your hope.

Your mark of defiance in a world you're fighting every single day to keep.

//

They're giants in space, crippled and hollowed-out, cracks like scars all over their hulls. Dead and deserted, Terran and Klingon alike, battleships built to conquer and destroy, their names sowing terror still in the hearts of those who care to remember.

Seen from astern, the _Hammerfall_ looks almost intact, the mile-long rift that split her apart well hidden on her monstrous black belly. The Empire's pride, slain with a single, devastating blow.

Adrift by her side, one of her shuttles passes your preliminary scans. A few minor adjustments, and the small ship will fly, a much-needed addition to your beggarly fleet.

Katrina stays behind with you while the other two pairs salvage what they can, meds, rations, a working replicator. You send them off with the sound of the proximity alert, long-range sensors picking up on the approaching birds of prey before you're even close to registering on their trackers.

“They're coming, Gabriel, closing in. Scanner sweeps just ten clicks away. We gotta go. Now!”

“Three minutes, Kat. I'm almost there. Bring us closer to that breach in the _Hammerfall_ 's hull. Navigational thrusters only. Get us in, nice and easy. Just a piece of junk drifting through space. There you go.”

The drive jumps back to life after no more than ninety seconds, and you grin with your success, and allow yourself to pull Katrina close for a hug and a peck on her cheek. She indulges your cheer, leaning back in your arms to look at you with a curious smile.

“What a difference you would have made, back in the day. Do you ever wonder, what it was like? A hundred years ago?”

“Brutal,” you say. “Even harder than today. I think we're better off.” You give her another peck, then soften your mouth for a tender kiss, sliding your fingers along the curve of her jaw. “C'mon, let's take this beauty back to the others. See what Ellis has been up to today.”

//

Michael seems an odd choice to some, but you do see the sense. A boy's name to keep the girl safe. If push comes to shove, let the Klingons look for your leader's son.

Emily's face is soft with joy, her eyes tender with emotion as she looks at the tiny girl in her arms, but you know there's an edge of fear to her gaze, a line of regret in the radiance of her smile.

Like you, she won't see much of her child, will have to leave her in the care of others, see her grow up under the loving tutelage of your extended family.

Miss her first words, first steps, too many firsts to even count.

Will likely never get the chance to give her a sister or brother.

But it won't matter the moment she kneels on the ground, sweeps up her daughter and smiles at her peals of laughter, her unadulterated joy at seeing her mother again.

The second she sees her little girl running about with her friends, safe and sound and happy.

Because that's all that counts.

//

The planet doesn't have a name, like all the others that came before it never did.

Just a number, a three-digit figure to mark your slow progression into nothingness.

You're maudlin tonight, sick with the long-winding futility of it all, and you hold the very reason for your sorrow right here in your arms.

Kat doesn't show it often, but sometimes she grows sad in your embrace, small and heavy with the one thing you know she quietly yearns for, that unspoken wish you share but never discuss.

A sister for Ellis, or maybe a brother, or better yet both, a family growing slowly bigger under your care.

You want to give her that so much.

But you're too important to fall back, both of you needed to coordinate the efforts of your infinite journey, even as much as one resettlement cycle too long a time for her to step down as a pilot.

The gift of Ellis already a concession to the contribution you've both made, another mouth to feed and care for too much to ask of the community that's already taxed far beyond its limits.

You're there to protect, to survive, not to repopulate. Not yet, but time is getting away from you fast.

Perhaps later, you think as you kiss her softly, your fingers brushing lightly over her brow. Some day soon, my love.

I promise I'll try.

Everything to see you happy, Kat.

//

The Klingons surprise you on a godforsaken rock of a planet, capture you with a minimum of fuss, drag you away right from the very side of your shuttle.

You pray they aren't aware of Kat, a half mile away, busy scanning for traces of ore you noticed from orbit.

They don't lose any time over getting you to spill all the knowledge they suspect you to possess.

You don't talk, but you will scream all they like. Anything to keep your secret safe.

And maybe alert Kat to the danger she's in.

They cut a piece right out of your back, skin peeled away to lay bare the twitch of muscle underneath. An acrid race of pain along your unprotected nerves, and oh how you scream, and scream, a shred of sound that rises until your voice breaks over it, an animal howl that won't be contained. Blood warm on your back, running down your sides, and your hands scrabble uselessly at the dirt on the ground, wet clumps of mud that stick to your skin, a smear of warmth, your life soaking slowly away. _Breathe, breathe, hold on_ and then they fall, one by one, prone like you, an end of their torture, an end of them. Kat's aim as sure and true as her voice in your ear. _Hang on, Gabriel, don't you let go_.

The prick of a needle, and the morphine washes your pain away, tugs at your thoughts, darkens your sight. You cling to her thigh, half-aware of her hands moving on your back. Fixing you.

A wet shine of tears on her cheeks.

“Kat, am I dying?”

“No, you're not. You're staying with me, Gabriel. The way you promised.”

That's right. Gotta keep your promise to her. Hers to keep.

You pass out with your head cradled safely in her lap.

Knowing that Kat will take you home with her.

//

She's fierce in the clutch of your embrace, the slide of your chest on her back wet and slick with sweat as you pull yourself into her, each thrust a powerful effort that culminates in a harsh, guttural grunt.

“Gabriel,” she gasps, and then she arches on her hands and knees, pushes herself back and up and right into your body, and you don't know from where she's taking the strength, holding the both of you up for so long.

You fuse your mouth to that place between her shoulders, sucking and licking until she arches again, even more forceful than before, and you drive yourself deep, and make her come with the rapid flick of your thumb between her legs, and let yourself be pulled over the edge by the delicious pulsing clench of her heat around the thick swell of you.

Breathless and exhausted, you collapse in a sweaty mess right next to her, groaning when she shifts beside you to gather you close.

The pull of the scar on your back a throb of its own, a minor pain you've almost become used to ignoring.

“Don't you scare me like that again,” she whispers in between tiny kisses, and you tighten your arms about her in as much of a promise as you feel safe to give her.

She knows you will always come home to her.

No matter the cost.

//

It's such a close call that you're still shaking with it as you pull Ellis close and huddle with him in a corner of the rumbling transport.

The Klingons almost found you, forcing you to leave in a hurry, scramble to escape in a flurry of panic.

A short jump at warp, a steep waste of dilithium that will be hard to replace.

But you got everyone out, the children afraid and rattled into an eerie silence, their eyes wide and frightened in the low light of the cargo bay, pressed up close to the few grown-ups that were entrusted with their protection.

You're unfit to fight yet, but you can still be their last line of defense.

You brush your mouth across the crown of your son's head, and settle his trembling frame more deeply into the security of your embrace.

“Hush now, little one. I will keep you safe. Always.”

No world's wind will ever take him from your arms.

//

A slew of years sees you jumping about the quadrant in no recognizable pattern at all.

World after world after desolate world. A random sequence of planets all over the place.

You keep together, when you should spread yourselves thin. There's strength yet left in your dwindling numbers.

There are so many times that either of you doesn't die, so many narrow escapes, so many near misses that more often than not, you shake awake at night with the sheer improbability of it.

Some nights, the weight of Kat's head on your chest makes you go back to sleep. Others, the tender caress of her hand on your cheek helps you slow your breath, uncurl the tight clasp of dread around your heart.

She never says anything, but she knows.

That same fear sunk deep beneath the calm of her eyes.

But you come home, back to each other, time and time again.

//

Another nameless world takes up the fine swirl of Emily's ashes, long before her time, Michael's hands shaking as she gives the remains of her mother over to the howl and moan of the rising wind.

She looks very frail as Kat hugs her from behind, younger than the adult she's been for some time, a hot spill of tears running down her dark cheeks, but you know she possesses her mother's strength, that force of will she needs to lead the ones who stay behind along on their way.

Even if she doesn't know where it will take you.

//

Talk about the backup site never quite ceases among the more senior members of your group, growing louder every time one of you returns to give your report on what you found out.

Just a quick peek every once in a while, a perfunctory check to ensure the equipment is still functional.

Unlike you, Kat is in awe of the place, of the possibilities it offers, the chances it may grand.

Unlike you, she doesn't fear it, isn't wary of the devastation it wrought upon the ones that came before you. The ones who started the war that's slowly grinding you down, brings you closer each day to the inevitable prospect of extinction.

You think that maybe you should talk about stopping to come here at all.

Rid yourselves of the risk of having the Klingons find you here, trapped in that great hall with only one way out.

Until one day, you get a glimpse of the ships the Others are building. Capable of disappearing on a whim, go where they will, no distance too far.

No distance too far, and Kat's eyes are alive with what this could mean.

Delta.

A fresh place to start, to build and to thrive. To finally raise your children in peace.

A place so far away that the Klingons can't follow.

Safety at last.

//

Michael hears you out to the last, stoic and calm, you have to give her that much at least. Lets you build your case, your argument sound, the risks of your plan laid out in great detail to ensure the most reasonable decision.

It doesn't come as too much of a surprise to have her turn you down.

Even with most of the pilots backing you up.

Despite even the fierce shine of hope in your son's eyes.

You bow to the finality of her words, acquiesce to the plea for your understanding in her gaze.

You do understand.

It's just that you're not happy with the turn of events. Frustrated by too many years on the run. No way out, no room for improvement. A steady decline of everything you've grown to love.

Kat knows you well enough to wear you out thoroughly that night, pry you apart all tender and sweet, disperse the heavy drag of your mood with the gentle weave of her body above yours, the teasing whisper of her lips over your mouth.

To gather you close in the curve of her arms once you've managed to calm the laborious in and out of your breath.

“I just want for our children to be safe. Their children. Did you see the way Ellis looked at her? The way she looked back? They deserve better than this.”

She runs her fingers lightly through your hair, back and forth until you grow drowsy under the sure warmth of her touch, your body finally pliant against the curves of hers.

”I know, my love. I know. We'll find a way. We always have.”

//

You're not even close when they take her.

With both of you so important to the continued success of your survival, her wealth of experience needed as much as yours, you've been split up more and more lately to spread your skills more broadly. Accomplish more in a shorter amount of time. Give others a chance to profit from your knowledge.

You're burning up with a churn of fear and regret at the sound of her voice, a harsh crackle of static mincing her words, making you strain to understand.

Because she's so very far away from you.

Almost without reach of your comms.

Too far by a long shot to get to her in time.

"Keep him safe, Gabriel. No matter the cost, you hear me? Keep them all safe. I will, too."

A harsh hiss as the Klingons take a hold of her, a scream that ricochets off the walls of your shuttle, fierce and endless, a strain of sound you won't ever forget.

And then it's cut off as the line goes dead, that last slim connection to her severed for good.

“Kat. Kat, do you copy? Kat? I'm on my way. You hang in there. I'm on my way. I'm coming to get you. I promise. Kat?”

Silence is the only answer you get.

You sit staring off into space until your eyes burn with the strain.

You can't go home again.

Not without her.

//

“Let me go get her. Think of everything she's done for us. What she could still do. Please. Let me try.”

Michael's eyes are so very dark and soft with her refusal, and you envy the tight clasp of Ellis' hand around hers. Tangible proof of the growing bond between them. What you wouldn't give to feel Katrina's hand touching yours.

Isn't a thing you wouldn't give.

Not one.

“We can't afford to lose you, too.” An appeal to reason, when sense and logic are the very last things on your mind right now.

“She isn't lost, not yet. And neither am I. Unless you keep me from getting her back.”

In the end, it's a combined effort, your son's support decisive to your success.

She lets you go, sanctions your self-serving mission by officially declaring it an effort to prepare the move of the empire all the way to the other end of the universe.

You never even take the time to thank her for her kindness.

//

Klingons don't sneak. They attack upon sight, and that's the only thing keeping you alive.

That and the phaser hidden in the folds of your cloak.

They surprise you right outside the backup site, where you've passed out with exhaustion, a pile of skin and bone in the dust. Gone without sleep for far too long.

You kill all three of them, then blow up their ship, and perhaps Kat would chide you for the wild flare of satisfaction you feel at the sight of the white and blue flames licking up every last shred of evidence from the ground.

But she isn't here to curb the rush of darkness in you. Appease your growing hunger to have them suffer for what they took from you. Hold you back from the taints of your ancestry reaching out for you.

She isn't here.

Not yet.

//

It's a complicated process, one that you're utterly unfamiliar with.

But you do know the technology, the parts that form the sum of the whole, and you teach yourself, hour after hour, a painstaking procedure.

You only need to make it work once.

The coordinates you pick aren't random; you need your counterpart for this to work out. Finding him is comparably easy, his ship on patrol not too far from the Klingon border.

You mean to keep him safely captured, have him reprise his life once you've accomplished your goal, but the energy spike that comes with your inexpert transfer tears the ship's core asunder, a chain reaction that's impossible to contain. It's a mistake that comes at a horrible price, hundreds of lives in exchange for just one. Four thousand more if you play your cards right. A wrong you can't change, can't ever hope to repay. All you can do is to lend it a meaning, have every life lost safe a hundred in return. The turning point in your people's fight for survival.

When you get home, the _Buran_ and every single soul of her crew won't ever be forgotten.

A memorial to everything you've sacrificed. A pledge to everything you won't.

//

You're not fully alive, not really. A part of you still stuck on the other side. The rest of you always yearning for home.

The pain in your eyes the only thing that keeps you sane.

You can't go home. Not yet. But you will.

You stand staring out at space, motionless but for the small rub of your thumb over the scar where your ring is supposed to sit.

Sunrise.

A new dawn.

It's hard to believe in with nothing but hope to hold on to.

//

Drill after drill, and you feel you must despair of this crew.

This whole damn organization, wrapped so tightly around its own rules and regulations it doesn't even allow for forward thinking any more.

They're soft. Complacent and spoiled by a life in safety. Mostly unscathed yet by death and war. Their first taste of the Klingon terror diluted and brief.

So much luckier than you have been, despite the many mistakes in the line of their own history.

You can't hold it against them.

You shouldn't.

But you do.

Their good fortune rankles in the face of everything you were made to give up.

It won't keep you from helping them along their way, though.

One good deed in exchange for another.

You have so much yet to teach them before you get to ask for something in return.

The one thing you hope they won't be able to deny you.

//

You don't feel safe in your bed.

They come at night, when darkness falls behind your eyes. When your nightmares take over, eyes glowing like dying embers in faces smeared with blood. Sharp teeth gleaming through the cracks of their smiles.

Sometimes they take Kat, sometimes they take Ellis.

Sometimes they take both, and you start awake panting, sweat dripping from your hair, running down your back in sluggish cold trails as you clutch at the sheets, unable to let go, to shake off the choking clutch of fear.

There's nothing you can do to stop them from coming, again and again, but the hard lump of the phaser under your pillow helps you rein in the terrible crawl of dread on your skin.

//

What you need to succeed really isn't all that much.

An opportunity to do as many practice jumps as possible. Extend your range, shift the target just enough to get you back home.

A sound number of run-ins with the Klingons to refine your tactics, gather intel, train your crew.

If only you could make them understand the gravity of their situation, the immensity of the threat their enemy poses. How much easier it would be to tap into their potential if they shared just a fraction of your incentive.

But they cling to their dream of peaceful exploration, holding themselves back, afraid to strike, to use their strength, their abundance of resources, and draw a line the Klingons won't ever dare to cross again.

Too shellshocked even to build a solid defense. Or develop a sensible strategy against an enemy they've hardly even begun to understand.

_What a difference you would have made._

In your own world, in a different time.

Perhaps you would have. Perhaps even for the better.

That's what you're going to try for them.

Help them find a way to come out of this conflict with their dream still intact.

It's the best they can hope for.

//

That admiral.

The softness she harbors for you, that fondness so radiant in her eyes.

It damn near kills you.

She's not your wife in so many ways, not a single memory you share with her, but it all melts away under the warmth of her mouth, the affection in her smile. You want to let yourself fall into the comfort of her touch, have her become what you need her to be.

And just this once, you fill yourself with her, just this one brief moment, one small desperate kiss of recognition, of rekindling, each of your senses vibrant and alive with the memory of her, a flood of relief and guilt tied so closely together you can't ever hope to untangle the one from the other.

With a gasp, you close yourself off after the weakness of your indulgence, keep yourself safely apart from the hunger in her kiss, the eager pull of her hands on your back. Have your own body be a means to an end, let sense memory do your work for you.

_I'm sorry, Kat, I'm so, so sorry. I know I've wronged the both of you._

Falling asleep by her side is yet another mistake, a nightmare come to life, punished by the terror in her eyes, the fear of a stranger she's allowed to come too close.

It's nothing compared to the threat of losing this ship, the one thing you've got left to take you back home.

Keep your family safe.

There isn't a thing you wouldn't do.

And so you do the unthinkable, the very worst act you know yourself to be capable of.

You send the admiral off right into the waiting arms of the Klingons.

A heinous, hateful thing to do.

Doesn't even matter that you're certain she knows what she's getting herself into.

The vast blackness of space stares right back at you as you stand by the window, looking past the faint reflection of your face, and you think of Katrina, your thumb trembling over the faint lines of the scar she left on your finger.

For the first time since she's gone you ask yourself if she's even still alive.

Still waiting for you to come back to her.

Come back and take her home.

//

It's the most complicated jump you've ever made.

Months and months of careful preparation, of covert practice and painstaking planning now coming to a head.

Crossing from one universe through to another.

With everyone but you unaware of the fact.

The _Discovery_ bursts back into space like this is where she belongs. A pristine vessel afloat in a field of broken wrecks and drifting debris.

It's home, but it's not.

More familiar than anything you've felt for so many months.

But emptier than you remember.

Just a place now, until you have her back.

//

It's Ellis who answers your call on the heavily secured channel that's reserved for emergency transmissions.

The sight of him makes your heart burst with joy, makes your voice break over the sound of his name.

“We don't know for sure that she's still alive, but if she is, if she managed to pull through, then this is where they will have taken her.”

You can't disappoint the fierce flare of hope in his eyes.

“I'll get her back, Ellis. I promise I will.”

There is no way to prepare your crew for the sight that awaits them, so you don't.

The _River of Blood_ is traveling deep within Klingon territory, near to the heart of their far-flung realm. She's a terror in her own right, sleek lines, sharp edges, three times the _Hammerfall_ 's size. War incarnate.

With _Discovery_ at your disposal, it really doesn't matter at all.

You only have minutes, but that's all you need.

No time for explanations, your orders succinct, your tactics honed to the finest detail.

The _Discovery_ flits through jump after jump, each shot fired with a precision it took so many months, such a taxing amount of patience to train into your crew.

The Klingons' arsenal diminished piece by piece.

Their shields go next, and as they go down, as the _River_ lies naked and bare, temptation rises, ugly and tantalizing, to slay the beast that fills the screen.

But that's not what you came to do.

That's not at all what you really want.

“Scan for Cornwell. Find her.” _Find her_.

Jump, jump, flit, and everything just _stops_ as they beam her out, a frozen moment as the strain of fear slung so tightly about your heart snaps free at last, and then you breathe again, and you move, and you can't get to sickbay fast enough.

You're about to go home.

//

She's more beautiful than you've ever seen her.

Her long hair matted, her uniform in tatters. But her eyes alive with spirit, a bright burn of survival.

“Kat.”

You try, but you can't hold her close enough, can't pull her nowhere as near as you need her to be.

“I knew you'd come for me. I knew, Gabriel.”

She's too slim in your arms, frail and worn out.

“Don't you ever scare me like that again,” you whisper, and she's laughing, and trembling, and gasping into the ferocity of your kiss.

You cling to her with all your might.

She's always had more than enough strength for the both of you.

//

You don't wait for them to find out for themselves. Together with Kat, you tell them truth, straight and simple.

All cards on the table.

With everything you've been through, everything you've put them through, they still give you the benefit of the doubt.

Let you explain yourself, recount the events of your journey, the motives behind every little thing you've done to get to this point.

“I couldn't risk trusting you. Couldn't risk being stuck with you. Unable to help my family. I gave them a promise. The kind you can't ever break.”

You invite them to accompany you to your home of the moment, and they accept, every bit as gracious as you'd hoped for them to be.

Because you offer them a safe passage home, their help not withstanding.

Because Kat offers to stay behind on board for the duration of their visit as a show of good faith.

It's killing you to leave her behind again, but you couldn't ever say no to her.

Right from the very first time she spoke to you.

Not a thing you wouldn't do for her.

//

Ellis is taller and more solid in your embrace, a man grown into his own, but he's still your little boy, still with that smile, that kindness in his eyes.

A father to be, and Michael's face is soft and glowing and happy with it.

In all of your life, you've never been this proud, and you can't wait for Kat to find out. See the slow rise of joy on her face, and soothe away the small sting of sadness underneath.

You haven't forgotten that other promise of yours.

It's not nearly too late for that one yet.

It doesn't surprise you, but it's still strange to see the two Burnhams take a liking to each other, once they've stumbled past the vast discrepancies in their respective upbringing. The obvious fact of Michael's impending motherhood.

They hash out the details of your next move between themselves, Saru getting to have his say as well.

The delta quadrant has never been less of a dream.

A new dawn.

Home at last.

//

“How many jumps will it take?”

Kat looks perfectly comfortable where she's perched on the wall, looking at the bustle of people darting from building to building, packing up things, moving their few scant belongings about.

“A few dozen back and forth. Saru blew a fit over the total number.”

“He's probably feeling Starfleet breathing down his neck.” She leans over to run a hand along the length of your naked back, all light and slow, resting her fingers over the waistband of your pants. Tap, tap, _tap_ , and you pause in your work, more than happy to leave the heavy lifting for a little later. “He's being extremely generous as it is.”

“Hm.” You turn about to face her, and the cradle of her legs around yours is giving you ideas, as is the perfect pink lush of her lips. “Don't you wish we could have had more kids?”

The shrug of her shoulders is barely there, as is the faint shadow of sorrow in her eyes. Under your palms, the curve of her hips feels fuller already, softer with her recovery, and you still haven't given up on the idea. Now that fortune has stopped looking the other way for once.

“What's that on your mind right now, Gabriel?”

You grin right into the kiss you steal from the luscious swerve of her mouth. Thread your fingers through her hair, smooth and warm under the sun, to expand your kiss, have her breathe heavily over your face and drag her hands deliciously slow all over your chest. “Just something we should do together.”

She pulls and you press in, kissing her harder, no longer playful. Burning up with a need so serious it makes you drag her fiercely against you, so very eager to push close, and in, and be all over her. Fill her completely, and be filled with her presence in return.

Her groan rolls around hotly in your mouth, and you pull her down with you, cover her in the shade of the crates you're supposed to be lugging about.

“Let's put our flying days behind us for a while,” you say, and she arches under you, and races with you toward completion, the clasp of her hands in your hair keeping you close, close, one breath, one heat shared forever between you.

//

“Save her. No matter the universe, she's worth it.”

Burnham nods as you see her off, one jump away from her own journey home.

Back to a war she didn't mean to start.

A war you mean for her to end.

Isn't a thing the admiral wouldn't do to help her along the way.

Even if maybe, she doesn't know it yet.

//

You can't go home again.

But you can find yourself a place to live, doesn't matter where, as long as it's safe.

As long as your family is with you.

By their side, you will always be home.

//

You leave it to Michael and her generation to come up with a name for the world you've chosen for your fresh start in the delta quadrant.

There's a more pressing matter that requires your attention.

“You never told me your sister's name.”

The swell of Kat's belly is small yet under the protective curl of your palm, the beginning of a promise you've meant for so long to fulfill for her.

“We don't even know it's a girl, Gabriel.”

The feathery touch of your mouth over the back of her neck draws her more deeply into the lazy warmth of your embrace. Makes her press close and hum with pleasure, even though you left her thoroughly sated just minutes ago.

“Humor me, love.”

She gives a small laugh as she takes your hand, threading her fingers through yours. “She was called Avery.”

“Works either way. Aren't we lucky?”

“Yes. We are.”

And she turns to kiss you, all the warmth of her flowing over you, and hasn't anyone ever been luckier than you.

In this universe, and any other.


End file.
